I remember the hour
you stole time from me

and here in these late pages
I try to collect back

the kisses in the parking lot
that erased my history

next to that green F-150
when you became my future.

More by Sally Van Doren


I chart the psyche,
observing how I 
force myself to speak
to you, imagining that
together we might
transform a life.  

Why this need
to document change,
to reverse a mood, 
to carry forward the time
when magnolias bloom?

Let’s follow the itinerant we
up and over the jonquil's back,
treading on its spilled bullion.

Call Us

Let's use our nicknames
When we apply for this next job
Even though it's past our bedtime
And our current paycheck
Can't shut up the muse
Who mewls at the dinner table
Begging for a crust of bread
To sate the nightly terrors.
For they come, don't they,
Leaving empty spaces numbers
Are supposed to fill. Buddy
And Chip loaded their coffers
Before the hard freeze.
The ice burns our tongues
As we swallow prosperity
One parched drop at a time.

After Every There 3

I want to claim
that burst of blue,
to register it is an
antidote to the explosion
of too much emotion,
the yellows, reds and greens
that bombard my morning
vision.  Can we get
along or can’t we?
Not when one young man
sets his anger on fire
and it’s lights out
for everyone around him.

In response to Eva Lundsager’s painting of the same title.